On the day following Billy Gee’s spectacular escape from Sheriff
Warburton, Coates and Tyler, the Mohave & Southwestern Railroad
detectives, temporarily abandoned their search for the suspected
cache on the Huntington ranch, and motored away over the fifty-odd
miles to the station of Mirage, backtracking the bandit’s course to
the distant grading camp where he had robbed the paymaster’s car.
At Lex Sangerly’s request, the Geerusalem constable—an official
regarded more as an ornament than as a legal necessity in the
township—detailed a number of his deputies to guard the ranch
against the possibility of Billy Gee’s return; for Sangerly was more
convinced now than ever that the disappearance of the twenty
thousand dollars centered around the Huntington place. He reasoned,
therefore, that the bandit, if alive, would come back after it.
The morning after Lemuel sent the telegram to Mrs. Liggs asking her
to join him and Dot in San Francisco, for the purpose of selecting
the girl’s wardrobe, the little dry-goods storekeeper had informed
Lex, when he voiced his surprise at her trunks and suit cases being
loaded on a freight wagon, that she was leaving for the metropolis
to be gone an indefinite period. A few days later, however, he
learned that Mrs. Liggs had sold out her business. He wondered
vaguely, regretfully, over this. It seemed to him that she at least
might have told him of her plans. He couldn’t understand it. It was
not like her—certainly, not like the Mrs. Liggs he had known in the
past, the wistful little woman whom he had found again and still
loved, second only to his dead mother.
Meanwhile, Coates and Tyler back from their painstaking, arduous
investigation of the route Billy Gee had taken from the grading camp
into Soapweed Plains, reported to Sangerly that, even as Warburton
had stated, there was not the remotest likelihood that the outlaw
had hidden his stealings on the way. They had found that he had not
dismounted once throughout his long heartbreaking ride.
This discovery simply served to strengthen all the more the theory
that the ranch was the site of the missing loot, and again these two
sleuths set diligently to work to find it, making an exhaustive hunt
of the premises, exploring the barn from mudsill to rafter, prying
into every nook and corner of the house, wielding the pick and
shovel in the garden, the corrals, the field, questing with the
ardor of bloodhounds each spot or locality where a man would be
tempted to conceal a stolen fortune.
After a week of this, they talked the matter over between themselves
and they agreed that by all the signs Lemuel Huntington knew more
about the disappearance of the money than any other living man—not
even excepting Billy Gee. They were absolutely convinced that, while
his daughter might have acted solely from humanitarian reasons in
giving aid to the wounded outlaw, her father unquestionably had not
only collected the reward for capturing the fellow but had succeeded
in getting possession of the contents of the saddlebags as well.
It was obvious, they argued, that since Huntington had taken Billy
Gee into custody so easily—desperadoes, their experience told him,
did not submit without a struggle—he had doubtless been shrewd
enough to study the bandit’s movements for some time prior to
getting the drop on him. Such being apparently the case, it followed
then that Dot’s father had seen the outlaw cache his stealings; and
after delivering his prisoner to Warburton, he had returned home and
robbed the cache, feeling himself secure in the belief that Billy
Gee would, in all probability, go to jail without divulging the
hiding place of a treasure whose value was such as to assure him of
a comfortable stake against the day of his release, providing, of
course, it was never found. Moreover, Coates and Tyler began to
discern where Huntington’s hurried trip to San Francisco was the
result of sudden panic, brought on by the haunting thought that in
some way suspicion might fasten on him and that he might be made the
object of a rigid examination which, he felt, he could not undergo.
Coupled with this notion, was their prevailing belief that
Huntington had taken the twenty thousand dollars away with him.
However, Coates and Tyler said nothing of all this to Sangerly. They
were of the opinion that Lex was altogether too lenient in his
judgment of Lemuel Huntington; that he was letting Huntington’s
seeming hospitality stand in the way of those suspicions which, they
were positive, he must have entertained against the rancher.
Secretly, they began to regard their superior with a sort of pitying
scorn for his obvious gullibility. Their criminal-hunting instincts,
too, started rebelling at being held in leash, at being hindered in
their functioning by the dictations of a man whose faith in human
nature was, to all intents and purposes, destined to bring about the
ultimate failure of the case—immunity for Huntington, the loss of
the money.
Brooding thus, becoming more and more disgusted with their fruitless
search of the ranch, these two conscientious investigators resolved
to take matters in their own hands, at the risk of incurring
Sangerly’s displeasure and receiving a reprimand into the bargain.
They decided that, unknown to him, they would arrest Lemuel on his
return, charge him with having made away with the twenty thousand
dollars, threaten him with disgrace—anything that would terrorize
him, wring a confession from him.
But inquiry of the man who was caring for the ranch during the
absence of the Huntingtons brought the disturbing information that,
not only was he ignorant of the family’s whereabouts in San
Francisco, but he had not the slightest idea when Dot and her father
would return. Coates and Tyler, their plans balked at the outset,
went back to their half-hearted search, waiting grimly for the
arrival of their victim.
Meanwhile, Lex had likewise been giving considerable thought to the
mysterious disappearance of his company’s money. He also was
beginning to recognize the necessity of carefully questioning
Lemuel, as well as his daughter, on the entire Billy Gee episode.
While he did not believe they were accomplices of the bandit in any
sense of the word, or even knew him for that matter, he felt
convinced that it was quite possible that their stories would shed
some light on Billy’s movements which would facilitate the search
Coates and Tyler were making, resulting probably in immediately
locating the whereabouts of the outlaw’s cache, for, though he would
not admit it to himself, he saw where their quest was rapidly
reaching an end, that it had seemingly been for naught.
Ever since the departure of Dot and her father, Lex had made it his
business to ascertain the standing of the Huntingtons, in order to
fully satisfy his mind as to the type of persons they were. He had
done this quietly, so as not to arouse suspicion, and had found that
without exception the community regarded Lemuel as a sterling,
though simple, character, and held Dot in no less high esteem than
did Mrs. Liggs. About the only weakness that the father had, was an
inordinate worship of education and educated people, which found
reflection in a consuming passion to provide his daughter with those
advantages that would make her a woman of superior culture and
refinement, so the camp said. And this, to Lex’s mind, was an
unerring sign of probity in any man, a native genteelness that could
not go far wrong.
One morning, two weeks after the Huntingtons had left for San
Francisco, Lex motored from the ranch into Geerusalem. He had said
nothing to Coates and Tyler about what he now contemplated doing,
merely instructing them to await his return. Once in camp, however,
he had the constable send a wire to the San Francisco chief of
police requesting him to locate if possible the hotel at which
Lemuel and Dot were registered. Around six o’clock that afternoon a
reply was received, naming the Golden West.
Without loss of time, Lex sprang into his roadster and drove to the
railroad, where he caught the night train for the North. After due
reflection, he had decided to have a quiet talk with Huntington and
his daughter, one in which the detectives would have no part; for
somehow he rather resented their thinly veiled insinuations and
coarse remarks toward a man against whom they possessed not a
vestige of incriminating evidence. In fact, he was certain he could
get more from the Huntingtons through a friendly discussion, than
might be gained by the intimidating, browbeating methods employed by
inquisitors of the Coates and Tyler type.
Besides, manlike, he was just a little bit curious to meet this
girl, Dot, of whom he had heard such flattering reports, whose
picture he had gazed on so many times during his fortnight at the
ranch, who was so close to his dear little old friend, Mrs. Liggs.
But in one particular, his plans miscarried, for it so happened that
while he was en route to San Francisco, Lemuel—having sight-seen the
metropolis to his entire satisfaction, as well as gratified the
desire of his life by settling Dot in Longwell Seminary for her
first year—was on his way back to Geerusalem, with a headful of
progressive ideas calculated to make him in the next decade, through
the early purchase of a herd of stock cattle, the principal cowman
of southern California. Their trains passed each other in the night.
The following day when Lemuel reached home, he was confronted by
Coates and Tyler and learned to his bewilderment and dismay that he
was under arrest for no less a crime than knowingly appropriating to
himself twenty thousand dollars belonging to the Mohave &
Southwestern Railroad Company. They ordered him into the kitchen and
began grilling him—bombarding him with questions, disputing his
answers, tripping him up, now and again hurling their accusations at
him, cajoling him in one breath, threatening him in the next.
Hour after hour, they kept it up untiringly, mercilessly, and
because he could not give a convincing story of how he had known
that Billy Gee was hiding in the hayloft—fearing as he did to
mention even so much as his daughter’s name in conjunction with the
case—they decided to hold him on the John Doe warrant they had
procured from the local judge, pending further investigation.
At dark, Coates mounted one of Lemuel’s horses and rode into
Geerusalem and communicated by telephone with Sangerly, senior,
Western manager of the Mohave & Southwestern in Los Angeles. He gave
a brief account of the failure which had attended their search and
ended with the declaration that it was the professional opinion of
himself and Tyler that Lemuel Huntington was the thief. Stating
simply that Lex had gone to San Francisco, Coates informed Mr.
Sangerly that they desired to remove their prisoner to the county
jail for further questioning and asked for official sanction in the
matter.
This being granted, he rushed the usual legal formalities necessary
to take a prisoner out of the jurisdiction of the Geerusalem courts
and sped away for the ranch in a rented machine, his object being to
get Lemuel out of the district before Lex returned; for now there
was not the remotest doubt in the mind of those two man-hunters that
Dot’s father was the sensational catch of their careers.
It was a bright, starry night, warm and quiet, and it was nine
o’clock, when the driver brought the car to a halt before the
Huntington ranch. Coates sprang out and was presently pounding on
the front door.
“Who’s there? That you, Ray?” shouted Tyler from inside.
“Yes. Open up! Everything’s jake. We’re on our way.”
The next moment the door was thrown open and Coates entered, gazing
in amazement at his partner, grim of face, six-shooter in hand. Back
of him, in the hall, stood Lemuel, his sunburned, leathery cheeks
yellow with alarm, his eyes bulging wildly.
“See anybody outside?” asked Tyler.
“Only the driver of the machine. What’s eating you anyhow? You look
like you been shot at and missed.” He chuckled roughly.
“Yeh? Well, come on in the kitchen and I’ll show you something’ll
make your hair curl.” Turning the key in the lock, Tyler led the way
toward the rear of the house. On the oil-cloth covered table lay a
soiled old envelope containing a lead-pencil scribble. He picked it
up and handed it to Coates, who read:
I jest cum to take my saddle an bags an pack off the 20,000 that
you dicks aint bin able to find. After this better close the
window so folks cant lissen. An dont show yore nose outside cos Im
shootin tonite.
Coates stared at his colleague, the yellow lamplight showing his
face drawing into hard, cruel lines. A furious curse burst from him.
“Billy Gee!” he shouted.
“Yes, damn him!” growled Tyler. “Half an hour ago I heard a knock
out front. I thought it was you coming back. That’s what I found
shoved under the door.” He indicated the envelope. “While we were
quizzing the old duffer, like a coupla rummies, Billy was getting an
earful at the window. Kids us about it, you’ll notice.”
Coates’ withering eyes rested on the other. “He beats it with the
swag, you notice that, too, don’t you? And you’ve stuck inside here,
like a big walrus, and let him. What the hell kind of a free-lunch
detective——”
“Say, soft-pedal that stuff, pal!” flared Tyler menacingly. “I don’t
see you busting no records—except it’s slipping the bull. If you
think I’m tearing out after this wild and woolly yegg, so’s he can
pot-shot me first flop out of the box, you’re cuckoo. Maybe I
ought’ve taken the lamp and looked under the rosebushes for him,
eh?”
Coates made no reply. Raging silently he paced the floor. Some
seconds afterward he halted before Tyler.
“This is certainly some swell mess. That’s all I got to say. I
phoned the chief, got his O. K., talked my head off to get the
papers signed, and rented a machine for the trip. For what? We’ve
put in two weeks in this hole for nothing. The money’s gone. Get me?
Gone! We might as well sling onto our grips and report back to
headquarters for a damn fine panning. Hot dog!”
Tyler laughed. “Rave on! To hear you say it I’m the whole show,
ain’t I? I’m supposed to pull a fancy moving-picture stunt, while
you stand on the side lines rooting for me. Pretty soft! Sure, I get
you! You’re trying to slip out from under—make me the goat. Say, bo,
any time you think——”
“Aw, cut it out! Let’s get out after this wise bird, see if we can’t
pick up his tracks. I got the car outside. If we don’t get a line on
him, we’ll shoot to camp and phone the old man,” cut in Coates
surlily. He turned to Lemuel, standing near the stove, rubbing his
bony hands in hopeless apprehension. “Mr. Huntington, we’re letting
you go on probation. But don’t leave the country till we tell you,
d’you understand? Take care of our traps for a few days. If we don’t
come back we’ll send for them. Come on, Tyler, we’ll——”
He broke off abruptly, interrupted by the furious honking of the
horn of the machine waiting out on the road, the thunderous roar of
its open muffler.
With Tyler at his heels he dashed for the front door. Clearing the
porch in one bound they sped down the garden walk, gripping their
revolvers, straining their eyes toward the car, looming black
against the sky horizon of the plains.
“I’m cutting for the field. Watch your shots!” panted Coates in low
tones, swinging off on a tangent through the garden.
But he had barely cleared the walk when the automobile suddenly
leaped away; and simultaneously its headlights flashed on, boring
twin avenues of white flame through the darkness in the direction of
distant Mirage. Alongside the driver, the silhouette of a man was
now visible. He megaphoned back with his hands at the two
detectives:
“Thanks for the machine, fellers. Noo York service I call it. Give
my reegards to old Law an’ Order.”
Coates and Tyler emptied their six-shooters wildly at the car.
Cursing frantically, they sprang in pursuit, loading and firing
their weapons as they ran. But the machine, speeding on like the
wind, whirled out of range and went on and on, plunging and
careening over the uneven road, vanished into the vastness of the
desert night.
“That squares us. You had your fling at him,” said Tyler to Coates.